


It's Christmas Day

by itemfinder



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Sherlock Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 04:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itemfinder/pseuds/itemfinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade unwraps his Christmas presents on Christmas morning, like always.</p><p>(Written for fildespensees for the Sherlock Secret Santa on tumblr.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Christmas Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astudyinlestrade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinlestrade/gifts).



Lestrade doesn't do a lot for Christmas -- hard to find much enthusiasm for decorating a flat if you're the only one who'll see it, and he's never been much of one for baking holiday treats -- but he has always saved opening his presents for early Christmas morning. His family had been very strict about it -- no shaking and no early gifts, but any time past dawn on the 25th was fair game, so long as both his mother and father were awake to supervise. Some years it's only one (no one's quite sure when the Yard's Secret Santa started, but there's hell to pay for non-participation) and others another two or three. This year is probably the most he's gotten since he was getting gifts from St. Nick himself, which means the pile on his sofa looks almost respectable.

He starts with the present from his Secret Santa. The blue snowflake paper doesn't do much to disguise its shape, and he's completely unsurprised to find a coffee cup under the tape and gift wrap. Every year some poor sod winds up with Anderson as their gifter, and every year he gives them the same blue cup, wrapped without a box and with a giant ribbon on it. To be fair, it's better than the gag gifts Dimmock comes up with, but only because Lestrade is certain to have more need for a coffee cup than a dancing reindeer.

Two gifts in battered green foil (the larger with a startling amount of tape over what looks suspiciously like a scorch mark) and a cheerful "Happy holidays!" card are supposedly from John and Sherlock, although the signatures in the card are both in one hand. Teasing open the smaller one, he laughs to see three of his own warrant cards. Certainly not something Sherlock handed over willingly, although if anyone could get him to do it, it would be John Watson. The second present is a sweater that makes him glad neither John nor Sherlock is likely to run into him off-hours (particularly since he doesn't spend many of them doing anything but sleeping) -- there really should be laws against that particular shade of red-orange, particularly when it's paired with _green_.

He's hardly set it down before his phone goes off with the little series of beeps that means he's got a text. Even as he opens the it, he knows he's just trying to avoid opening the last two presents, the ones wrapped in rich plum-colored paper and tied together with black ribbon, which is both the least Christmassy color scheme he can think of and exactly what he'd expect from the person who gave them.

 **I told him it  
was awful.**

 **SH**

"Of course you did." Because Sherlock was Sherlock and would say exactly what he thought whether it was necessary or not. Lestrade just hoped John hadn't spent much on the sweater -- it really _was_ awful, and he'd rather think John was stingy than have to worry about how wasteful he was being, not wearing it. Before he can respond, it goes off again.

 **Don't bother with  
unwrapping. Just bin  
them.**

 **SH**

A few minutes' work both with and against the auto-correct on his phone and he's sent back, **Bet you're wearing yours. Tell J Merry Xmas.** Because it's not worth arguing any of the rest of it, and he's still just delaying. He shuts off his phone before tucking it back in his pocket, knowing that if it goes off again he'll never get this done.

He unties them first, sets the ribbon to the side, and smiles at the perfect folds of the paper. It's almost a shame to unwrap it and ruin the effort, but he's already pulled off the bow and he _does_ want to know what's in it. Once he's committed, it takes less than thirty seconds to tear off the paper and reveal a black-and-silver tie and a small, unlabelled bottle of cologne. Unrolling the tie reveals a card, handwritten in slanted, dark blue lettering.

 **G.,**

 **Merry Christmas. The rest of your gift will come tonight, assuming your schedule permits.**

 **yrs.,  
Mycroft Holmes**

Running one hand over the tie, he finds he's smiling, and laughs -- he'd given Mycroft a tie as well, and a small bag of chocolates. Re-rolling the tie, he sets it next to the cologne bottle and pulls out his phone. Powering it back on shows three new texts, but he dials instead. The line rings out to voicemail, which isn't surprising considering Mycroft is out-of-country at the moment, and at least a time zone away. He waits out the default greeting, shifting to a more comfortable position on the sofa.

"We agreed on only two gifts this year," he says, not bothering to start with an introduction. Mycroft will know he's called before he gets to the message, there isn't much point. "I didn't think you needed counting explained." He rubs at the nicotine patch on his arm, grinning up at the ceiling. "My schedule's looking pretty open tonight, and Dimmock owes me if anything comes up, so I'm looking forward to it." He pauses, expression softening, and closes his eyes. "Merry Christmas, Mycroft."


End file.
